


Wasted Time

by RuGrimm



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Bizarre Dolls, Depression, Diary/Journal, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murder-Suicide, Rebirth, Resurrection, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5224247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuGrimm/pseuds/RuGrimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Undertaker's life is nothing more than a broken plot...a broken record skipping and scratching and screeching...nothing more than a collection of random textures and shapes. His reason for living was burned in a fire months before. The love of his life was cruelly taken from him, and he realizes that something must be done. He must take actions into his own two hands, despite the consequences. Even if those consequences cost him his own life.<br/>(Written diary/journal style)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. February 16

It’s been a while.

          The last time I thought to write my thoughts on the paper was a time when I still had sanity, whatever sanity is now. I know not the purpose of these thoughts, but I know that I find myself without entertainment in the dark seclusion of my shop. Not many visit anymore, and those who do can only tell me the jokes and stories I’ve already heard.

          The curse of immortality is growing heavier with each passing day, and the reason of existence is nothing but a faint memory…or perhaps more of a fading proposition. From where I stand, the world is nothing more than a barren landscape, dulled over the years into a dry, dust covered horizon plagued with drought. The rain of laughter, tears, and emotions hasn’t come in decades, and any hint of life has long since been extinct.

          How am I to survive in a world where the only place to go is in the ground and into Hell?  

          What is an old man to do within the shadowed recesses of a forgotten shop? What is a crazy madman to do with an infinite number of days that hold no meaning anymore? The thoughts of that fateful day centuries ago plague my mind like the Black Death, choking my ability to see the reason of life. Once I thought myself lucky to have that second chance at life. Now it is naught but a curse upon my damned soul.

          I once had a purpose.

          That purpose was burned to ashes months ago— _Vincent Phantomhive_. His wife and son were murdered as well, leaving me alone in this world with not even a corpse to bury. I have only an empty grave and ground beside a vacant body that calls to me like an old friend, begging me to join it forever in harmony.

          I want to accept its proposal. I want to take Death’s solemn hand, despite the fact that it is I who am Death. Must I take my own hand? Must I turn the weapon of judgement against myself and purge my mind of these bastardly thoughts?

          That seems to be my only option at this point, but I know myself to be damned to the fiery pits of Hell for the rest of eternity if I am to strike myself. What if I was to do a dastardly deed? What if the ones who once rejected my skill and marred my body with revolting scars will be the key to my salvation? It is a thought. Nevertheless, God knows better. He knows that I will have wished Death upon myself, and it is as good as seppuku.

          For what reason am I to cling to life any longer? To keep myself from the pits in which my fear of diminishes, I must find my salvation within a purpose. However, what purpose would it be? What purpose could keep myself from the blade of my own scythe?

          I know from personal experience that Death is not the end. I am _living_ proof of that. What if Death was not the end for solely those who did not turn on themselves?  What if the key to my own extended life is to save the life I lost?

          Vincent Phantomhie shall rest no longer. His Cinematic Record is still within my possession, as is his soul. Could I perfect artificial life? Could I bring about the creation of my life’s reason with my own two hands? Am I capable of the impossible?

_Time will only tell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I am SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO verrrryyyyyyy sorrrryyyyyy!!! I wanted to write my Halloween collection, but I actually had a very busy month with every Saturday consisting of a Speech tournament, school, afterschool clubs, and of course...personal life stuff with perhaps a very special someone in my life *blush*.  
> Annnnyyyywayyyyyy, I didn't get to really write anything, but know that I will be posting a chapter every morning on week days like I did for Dear No One. I hope that will make it up to you guys. I really wanted an awesome Halloween special...but I never got around to it.  
> I also have another piece in the works that I'm close to posting, but that's also in the works and still needs some major revisions....  
> Oh well. I hope you enjoyed. If you liked what I'm doing, please subscribe, leave a kudos, and PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE leave a comment, because I absolutely thrive on those. Without comments, I likely wouldn't still be writing. I love all my fans so very much, and hugs and kisses to you all. Actually...just hugs...the kisses are sorta for just one person in particular whom I know will likely be reading this within the next few days ;)


	2. April 18

No progress has been made.

            I have met several dead ends without much success. The process in which I am perfecting is nigh impossible. I cannot fathom how to bring about human life again. After my experiments, I am now left with thirty-seven pointless, empty corpses that now sit within the bowels of my shop. I have had no success with them, and I plan to bury these failures near my old summer home in the London countryside. It is there that my safe house dwells, but I rarely visit anymore.

            Vincent and I used to spend spare days there.

            The memories are acetone on my open wounds, burning away the scabbing flesh like rust on metal.

            For what am I to do with my monotonous time? What am I to do with the memories that continue to plague me? Vincent Phantomhive, my dearest friend, is a ghost that I see all around at any given time. I prefer to converse with him now and then, but I know he is not real. I know that insanity has devoured my mind.

How far I have fallen…The tragedy of the Dispatch’s prized Shinigami is legendary; I am sure.

            Vincent…I hold our memories dear in my lockets, keeping them close at all times. I treasure them like one would treasure the last surviving photograph of a dearly loved one. On occasion, I will review the records I saved, and like a widow, I am sick with grief and tears. What had he done to deserve such a fate? He was naught but Her Majesty’s most loyal servant…and I have come to learn that it was Her Majesty herself that ordered his death.

            How corrupt England has become…

            Perhaps, with my gifted immortality and talents, I will avenge the innocents murdered. I will avenge the love lost. Queen Victoria has made a grave mistake.

            I will make her pay for what she has done.

            She will learn the consequence of disposing of her most loyal servants.

            She will learn the consequence of destroying a family.

            She will learn the consequence of dealing with Death.

            Perhaps, I will use my new project as a means to bring about the vengeance that is due.

            Despite the consequences that may befall me and possibly come at the cost of my own life, Vincent will not go without retribution. I swear on my Scythe.

**Undertaker**


	3. April 30

After so long without the glasses that once adorned my proud face, once unmarred by the treachery of those I had mistakenly trusted, I cannot believe my eyes, and if I had not such superior hearing, I would not believe my ears either.

            Ciel Phantomhive has returned from the dead.

            It’s been several months since the accident on his birthday that claimed the life of both his parents and my greatest friends—Vincent and Rachel. I remember the gentle little boy that once cam by my shop so often with his father, so curious yet shy. His voice was so soft and quiet when he spoke the name that is still like the sweetest sugar on my tongue. It rolls off, cascading down in a waterfall of naivety and childish elegance. I recall how he shied from me when I approached, and how Vincent nudged him forward to shake my large, scarred hand that was as pale as his own. His own tiny, fragile hands reached out to take the cookies I had offered him, and I so recollect the smile that reached his cerulean eyes so like his mother’s. How could a child be so impossibly beautiful in nearly every single way? It was nearly impossible had I not seen it with my own, ancient eyes. However, it had been expected once one sees his parents, both beautiful in their own ways. It was a pity that they had no more children afterward, but that couldn't have been helped. 

            But what happened to him? What sort of fate would befall such an innocent boy and curse him with the life he has returned with?

            A butler in black has accompanied his homecoming, and he is the black shadow that has draped over Ciel’s body like a demented blanket of death. He casts upon a once loving boy of ten the corruption of men far beyond his years and possesses him to crave the sin of wrath upon those who scorned him and his family. Revenge holds a cold boa around his heart, and it squeezes tighter every time it tries to escape. This evil taunts and teases me with an ever polite smile and a bow, and he has yet to discover the identity of my secrets. If only he knew the truth, but I know to hide it well for the sake of my dearest Ciel. 

            And now, my last link to Vincent has been corrupted with the evil I was sworn to destroy on sight. And the heartbreaking irony…is that this evil butler is almost the spitting image of Vincent…How can I destroy something so like him in order to save something so precious? I shall think on it for now...my hand grows tired...as does my mind and heart. 

            _Oh Ciel..._

**C.M**


	4. May 1

Ciel Phantomhive, I see now that you’re the forbidden fruit in the Garden on Eve. To take a taste of your tender presence would be the cause of my mortality. How bitter is the worm that acts as your parasite, slowly devouring your sweet nectar from the inside out.

            For what purpose would you sell your blessed soul so carelessly? I had hoped that your return would promise your safety and the continuation of the line that I have served for so long. I had hoped that perhaps a piece of Vincent could live on in happiness.

            You’ve thrown away everything your family has worked to achieve with one stupidly rash decision. However, I could not hate you. You’re too much like your father. And, like I, you wish to avenge his death and the fate that befell the Phantomhives. Queen Victoria is to blame for our joined misery, and it is Queen Victoria that will pay the handsome price of treachery.

            Even as I watch the darkness consume the light inside your once pure soul, I can do nothing, and that alone frustrates me. I cannot interfere with a contract that you willingly are bound to. Nevertheless, I will not let Vincent’s son waste away so easily. When the time comes, I shall swear to release you from the evil, black butler that sways your decisions and plans to feast upon your flesh. Once you’ve achieved the revenge we both crave upon lovely Victoria, I will free you from his clawed grip.

            Vincent would never forgive me if his son was made into a meal.

            He made me promise that should anything happen to you, it would be I that would protect you. Already by making that accursed contract with a demon, I’ve miserably failed his request. I shall not allow myself to fail anymore. I shall not allow any more harm to befall you. I shall not allow him to set one fang on that precious flesh. I shall not allow him to dine on a soul that belongs more in Heaven than Hell.

            Oh sweet Ciel, you would have lived a long life had it not been for Sebastian Michaelis.

            I am sorry that I have allowed you to fall so far from the touch of God. As a Grim Reaper, I am not allowed to put my faith in neither God nor the Devil, but then again, I am retired. My opinion in such no longer matters. I am free to make my own decisions, now.

            Beyond my wish to uphold a promise and free a soul I believe deserves a true chance at life without vengeance, I loved Vincent Phantomhive. I have a duty to myself to protect what remains of him. I have a duty to protect his home, his son, and his legacy.

            Queen Victoria may have murdered the man I came to know as more than a friend and a business partner, but she made a mistake in allowing his lover to live. She made a mistake in killing only one of us. Surely, she knows of the Shinigami that always lurked at Vincent’s side, and has loyally served the Phantomhives for longer than she has lived. Forgetfulness and lack of caution will be her downfall.

            Vincent Phantomhive will not leave this earth completely unavenged, and his name will live on for as long as I am breathing, as will his son. For in Ciel, I see his father looking back at me, and his mother gleaming in his eyes. I may have loved Vincent, but I still adored Miss Rachel—a delicate lily whom I also loved. Perhaps, I thought not of Rachel as I did Vincent, but I still loved her nonetheless. She was my best friend next to Vincent, and despite her knowledge of my love for her husband, she thought no less of either of us. Without hesitation, she loved the both of us as if nothing was happening. My dearest Rachel, I too loved her very much. In Ciel’s eyes, I see her smile, even if he himself no longer does (a very sad thing, indeed).

            Oh, my Vincent. Oh, my Rachel. I shall do my damnest to salvage the soul of the thing you both held dearest. 

**Undertaker**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay, my lovely little fans. Obviously, Thanksgiving got in the way, and some exciting new developments have been occurring in my life recently. Oh well, it can't be helped.   
> I feel that I have really fallen behind now in my works, and I am trying to catch back up with the demanded Death of the Shinigami (chp. 5) and When You're In Paris (chp. 3), but life is just a brick wall I'm having difficulty climbing. It is only recently that I have overcome the plague of Writer's Block, and I'm struggling to get back in the routine again. HOPEFULLY, I will be able to release those new chapters soon along with a new piece I have been working dreadfully hard on.   
> Before I publish that new work though, make sure to comment below, and tell me:  
> 1\. The obvious stuff about this piece  
> 2\. If you guys would like a Kuroshitsuji x Moulin Rouge! crossover...as that is the plan I have in mind. If you haven't seen the Moulin Rouge!...you're doing something dreadfully wrong with your life. LOL Just kidding, but seriously...WATCH IT


	5. May 2

I’ve discovered the answer to not only the salvation of Ciel Phantomhive’s soul, but the means to gain vengeance on Queen Victoria. I have discovered how to raise the dead.

            With this knowledge, I must backtrack and further explain my findings.

            The thought started in my parlor, a cookie pursed between my lips as a pondered the experimentations I have performed for the past month. Upon consideration, I remembered the life that I had once lived in all its glory. I remembered how humans live.

            Humans are a combination of body and soul, and when the body withers, it is up to the Shinigami to collect the souls. As long as one lives, they shall continue to record their life’s events in the Cinematic Record, and it ends once we, Grim Reapers, take their soul.

            That was my task for the last few centuries, following the orders of my book and that of my superiors without question and ending the kaleidoscope of the Cinematic Record with a simple nick of my scythe.

            However, what would happen if the continuation had an end?

            It is that question that lead me to discover the secret behind resurrection. I wondered what would happen to the body if you were to connect a continuation to the memories that had come to an end without the soul. Shinigami are only interested in the soul after all, and what happens to the body afterward is the work of other unnatural and natural forces alike.

            The end mark of the cinematic record arrives with every death, but if you connect more reel (or fake reels as I have done) to the body, the end will never come, and the body will begin to move again, with or without a soul.

            Nevertheless, the beings I have created are less than cognitive. They are mindless beasts that feel nothing, and they always stalk toward the door, moaning and groaning and wanting out of my secluded basement. I have yet to discover what they want, but they do not serve my purpose.

            Yet, in this failure, there is success. It is but the first step in my quest of resurrection. And these creatures can still serve me a purpose whether or not they are efficient. With their lack of input, and their ability to follow my command, they would make a perfect army. They would make perfect servants to my cause. The possibilities of what I may do with these… _dolls_ are endless.

            There are still many experiments that I shall conduct that will further enlighten their range of usefulness to me, but I must do this in moderation. Any strange behavior in the eyes of the London Dispatch may earn me unwanted attention. It has been difficult to hide from the prying eyes of other Shinigami to begin with. Should any word get out that I am meddling with death, I will likely be found, and my death will come soon after.

            I’m already a wanted man for my past infractions. Eventually, it will catch up to me, I’m sure. The question is whether or not they will catch me before or after my revenge is completed.

            Can I truly do the impossible and resurrect a cognitive, living person without their soul?

            If I can solve the mystery of death and successfully resurrect a human, what will become of the remaining reels of Vincent Phantomhive in my locket?

            What if I could resurrect Vincent? What is I could salvage the life burned to the ground with his family? Even if I were to save him, would he approve of my meddling? Vincent always had a strange sense of justice.

            And there’s one problem above them all.

            There’s no body in which to resurrect Vincent Phantomhive…unless…

**C.M.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwahahahahahaha, I hope you guys enjoyed this little chapter. Enjoy the suspense until tomorrow~!!!!! :p


	6. Smeday

I’m drunh. I dont understand ohw his hapened.

            1 minite Im ~~sobar~~ sober, the next I’m drunk. I tink it has to do wit the bottel in meh hand, butt I dont no. Mayb it is becuz twoday is Vincent’s birth day.

            You no, I love ~~Vicant~~ Vincent.

            I love Rachel.

            I love ~~Seal~~ Ciel.

            Y did that has to burn? It wasnt very nice of them. I think the Quien did it, butt I wouldnt no right now. I’m ~~dronk~~ ~~drunch~~ drunk.

            I thot my hand scribblies were beter than this. Hehehehehe.

            It ben long time since last I drunk. I tink I was dronk onec when Vin died. I dun remmber. Everting is fuzzy in my mind. I tink I’m mad. Butt I cant be mad, becuz I’m happy.

            I’m going to kill ~~Seal~~ Ciel to bring back V. I dun relly like the idea thou. I like ~~Siel~~ Ciel. He is nice. His buttler isnt. I dun like his butler. He isnt nice. He is demn. I am going 2 kill him to.

            I kill a lot of people. It make sad I. My I’s lok like Js. Is f ~~unne~~ funny.

            Butt I kil peple. I tink that not nce of me, but do it anywy. Y? I am Reapar. Is my job. But if I no kill pople, then wood they death? The thougt make me ~~sod~~ sad. If I brng them bak, then they mght love me. But no 1 love me. No 1 evr ~~doos~~ does. Vin did. But he dead. He burned.

            I shold die. I want to die. Then I ~~cood~~ could sleep. Sleep with no nghtmares. But God wont love me ether if I die agan. Y wont any1 love me? Wat did I do wrong?

            All I want is some1 2 notic3 me. They ignor me. Thats not nice ~~ether~~ either. Why cant they kill me to? I happy to die. I like blod. I want to se my blood. I wonder if my blood ~~read~~ red.

            I like colr red. I didnt get se it wen I die ferst time. I didnt ~~suffa~~ r suffer enuff.

            My scyth is nxt to me. I think Im gong to die now. I want to visit Vince. Say bai bye fer me. Hehehehe

                                                                                                                                                Ok?

            **Cass**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehe, cliffhanger :) Don't you love me, my darling fans~?


	7. May 4

Last night was a blur to me, and I awoke this morning to the unpleasant reality of an overhang. Just from that fact, and the facts that I was laying on the floor half naked and there was a bottle three feet from me, it wasn’t hard to piece it together.

            The final puzzle piece was the entry I had written in this journal.

            A pit has formed in my stomach, and I read it over and over again with growing horror. The newly formed scar on my stomach further confirmed the thoughts on my mind. It makes me sick, and I wish to crumple the entry and throw it into the flames of my hearth. However, I cannot. I know it to be the truth, and denying it any further would be madness. 

            The truth is that I am insane. I knew that yes, I was partially crazy in some aspects, but I had not known it had been to that extent. Those thoughts of final peace I know to be true, and too long I had been refusing to accept it. Now I embrace it with open arms, and Death has truly become my identity and my friend. I am my own salvation. 

            The problem is how I came to be drunk. I did not remember ever having access to alcoholic beverages, and it is hard to become drunk without an overwhelming amount of it with my immortal body. Furthermore, I think to the reason I had wanted to become drunk in the first place. I remember now that I came to the realization that the only way to make Vincent a new body and thus resurrect him is to kill his son, Ciel Phantomhive. How am I to murder something that looks so like him? How am I to destroy a life before it has hardly begun? What evil has possessed me that would make me believe that I could possibly consider that option? Is it the fact I am desperate to once again be united with the only one who has showed me any kindness in the last few centuries in my life. 

            There is a second option; however, it is not much better.

            I will not allow Ciel Phantomhive’s death to come at the hands of a black butler—a monster. In that light, I suppose that killing Ciel Phantomhive will be a mercy. In killing him, I will be saving his soul from damnation, and thus join him in Heaven with his beloved mother and grandparents.

            Oh, Claudia, please forgive me. I love Ciel like my own son, but I love Vincent more. Nevertheless, will it be worth it? If it succeeds, will Vincent ever forgive me for the murder of his once innocent son he knew before his death?

            Shall I endure his hatred for eternity, or will I live on in loneliness with a growing need for vengeance? One thing is for certain, however…The monsters I create on the road to Vincent’s return will be used to bring about the downfall for the one who brought about his death. I will take pleasure as her blood runs down from her throne and the stairs to it, pooling at the floor of her subjects' feet, her body twisted and mangled and partially devoured at the hand of my beautiful, beautiful dolls. The thought makes me shudder in delight, and I find myself wishing to begin my noble work again. My darling dolls await me downstairs, begging for me to work on their ivory corpses once again. 

            Queen Victoria will rue the day she dared betray her loyal guard dog and his silver fox. And when that becomes true, if Vincent has not returned to me by then, I shall find Vincent on my own, and find harmony with the blade of my scythe through my stomach. I do not dare be apart any longer. 

            My dearest Vincent, someday soon I will see you again. 

**Undertaker**


End file.
